Another Kind Of Hurricane Part 4

"Yes," said Papa.

"Hop in." The man pushed the truck door open.

"Go on, Zav," said Papa.

"We shouldnt do this," said Zavion. "We dont know him."

"We have to get out of New Orleans, and I cant paint my way out."

Zavion had a flash of one of Papas brightly colored canvases stretched across the bridge. Walking on the hands of trumpet-playing musicians from one side to the other. He blinked and had another flash of the mural in his room. Grandmother Mountain. Mamas mountain. Mama had promised to show Zavion where she had lived until she met Papa, to take him to meet Grandmother Mountain someday. He couldnt walk across the river on that mural, but maybe he could climb it to the sky.

He wanted to climb it- "Get in." Papa interrupted Zavions thoughts. "We need to get across this bridge."

Zavion climbed into the truck. A black canvas bag sat in the middle of the seat.

"Sorry," said the man. "You can just shove that over."

Papa extended his hand across Zavion. "Im Ben," he said.

"Joe," said the man.

"And this is Zavion. Thank you for the ride."

"No problem. Ive been traveling back and forth for the last two days, giving folk rides when I can." Joe started the truck up again and began to drive toward the bridge. "How can they not let people across on foot, you know? Its just not right." He shook his head.

"What do you do?" asked Papa. Zavion wondered the same thing.

"Im a photojournalist," said Joe.

Zavion looked at the bag next to him. "Is this your camera?" he asked.

"One of them, yup."

Zavion wondered what kinds of pictures were in the camera. Were there any from his neighborhood? Or his block? Was there a picture of his house?

Joe slowed the truck down as they approached an official-looking man, maybe another National Guardsman, stationed at the bridge. Joe rolled down his window. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning," said the man. "Where you off to?"

Papa leaned over Zavion. "Baton Rouge," he said without hesitation. "To my friend Skeets house."

When had Papa thought of that idea?

"He knows youre coming?" asked the man.

"Yes," said Papa.

Stealing-and now lying. The words glared shiny and bright in Zavions gut. What if the man pulled out a phone to check on Papas story? Zavion held his breath and felt his heart beating in the center of his throat.

"This is your truck?" the man asked Joe.

"Yes," he said.

"These are your friends?"

Beat-Beat-Beat- Up-Up-Up- Just like Zavion wanted to climb a mountain, his heart wanted to climb out of his mouth.

"Yup," said Joe.

The man gave a slight nod. "Have a good day," he said.

Joe rolled up the window.

"Were going to Skeets?" Zavion asked when they got to the other side of the bridge.

"I thought of it this morning," said Papa. "Maybe he can help us out. Is there a way to get to Baton Rouge from here?" he asked Joe.

"Yeah," said Joe. "You take I90 to 3127 and then cross the Sunshine Bridge." He pulled a phone out of his shirt pocket. "Here," he said. "You want to call your friend?"

While Papa made the call, Zavion looked out at the Mississippi River and imagined Grandmother Mountain rising up from its watery bottom. What if she had traveled all the way to Louisiana? That was the story that Mama always told, that Grandmother Mountain had been a wanderer. She would trek to a valley, stay for a while, but then get restless and move on. Maybe to a stream, or a forest, or a river.

What if she hadnt settled in North Carolina, but had lumbered farther south, to right here? Zavions heart raced along with his thoughts. If Grandmother Mountain had put down her roots in the Mississippi River, Zavion could climb her all the way to the top.

He squeezed his eyes shut and wished wished wished that when he opened them he would see red spruce trees reaching toward the sky.

But when he opened his eyes, Grandmother Mountain was nowhere to be seen.

The Mississippi River stretched into forever.

Zavions guilt stretched right along with it. He had stolen those chocolate bars. He had. Zavion himself. The one who prided himself on Taking Care Of, and Looking Out For, and Being In Control.

And now- He was ashamed. He was Letting People Down, Making Bad Decisions, and- Out.

Of.

Control.

His knee began to shake wildly. He couldnt make it stop.

His house was gone. His things were gone. There was rain. There was too much rain. There was a dead body. Images flew through Zavions mind like he was running a race. He needed to stop them. He needed to focus.

On one thing.

Now.

How was he going to repay Luna Market?

chapter 12.

HENRY.

There was no way Henry was going to school. He couldnt face anyone there. He wouldnt be able to concentrate in math on percentages, or in science about solids and liquids.

On instinct he headed for Waynes house.

The middle of the trail between Henry and Waynes went through a red pine grove. It was like walking on an old carpet. Henrys boots stopped snapping and shuffling, and he could hear the birds chasing after the wind, and the squirrels sc.r.a.ping their claws up and down the bark of the trees. He always loved this place, the quietest place on earth, the place that brought him straight to Waynes.

"Out of the way!" a voice screamed from behind him.

Okay, not quiet today.

Henry jumped, Brae jumped, and Henry swore the trees jumped too. He turned around. His up-the-hill neighbor, Nopie Lyons, bombed down the trail on his bike. His hair was in his eyes, a huge backpack pushed his chest onto the bike frame, and silver boots came up over his pants. He looked like a cross between a turtle and an electric mixer. Nopie was a freak of nature, and he was coming straight at Henry.

Henry dove out of the way just in time.

"Youre going the wrong way for school, Nopie!" Henry yelled as Nopie sped away.

Brae loped after Nopie.

"Cmon, Brae," called Henry. "Stay with me." He remembered the last time he had seen Nopie. The time before the funeral. "Please stay with me."

chapter 13.

ZAVION.

"Does it have a bathroom?" Zavion leaned over to whisper to Papa.

Joe had driven them over the Sunshine Bridge and Skeet had picked them up and brought them the rest of the way here.

"Of course it has a bathroom. Two of them. And good water pressure too," came a loud voice from above their heads.

A strong, minty smell came along with it. Not the sweet smell of gum or peppermint candy, but the sharp, fresh smell of real mint. Zavion turned his head. A woman with thick gla.s.ses, long gray dreadlocks, and knitting needles in her hands leaned over the railing of the stairs behind him. The needles were moving fast. A long scarf dangled by her side.

"The bathrooms are both blue," she said. "Very soothing. Easy to be in there when you have to do your business."

"You remember Ms. Cyn, Ben?" said Skeet.

"Of course. h.e.l.lo, Ms. Cyn," said Papa. He stood on his toes to give the woman a kiss on the cheek.

"h.e.l.lo, Ben," Ms. Cyn said, tapping Papa on the nose with her knitting needles and continuing down the stairs.

Zavion looked around the room. Sleeping bags covered the floor and the two couches and even a chair. The walls were bare except for a large cloth banner of a boy sitting at the base of a tree reading a book. Just above his lap, another book floated open in the air. And above that, where the branches started in the tree, a sort of half-book, half-bird floated again. Then, finally, a bird, wings outstretched, flew high in the sky. Written across the tree, in letters that sat hanging from the branches like fruit, was the word grat.i.tude.

Zavion recognized the painting style. The banner was one of Skeets.

How cool would it be to jump into the banner? To be the book? To jump, fly, up, up, turn into a book-bird, fly some more, higher and higher, until he was a real bird, wings wide, soaring in the sky?

"You ever been in Baton Rouge before?" Ms. Cyn asked Zavion, interrupting his thoughts. She motioned for him to sit with her on the bench at the bottom of the stairs. She knit and chewed her mint leaves.

"No, maam," Zavion said. He scanned the room. Skeet and Papa knelt on the floor with two men who Zavion didnt recognize. They were playing some sort of game with marbles. A little girl played on the rug near them.

"Well, welcome, then."

"Thank you, maam."

"You gonna tell me your name?"

"Oh. Yes, maam," said Zavion. "My name is Zavion."

"Dont think I didnt already know it, Zavion," said Ms. Cyn, and she laughed a deep, loud laugh.

Ms. Cyns needles flew in and out of the scarf. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a strip of yellow cloth. It was soft, like a piece of an old t-shirt. Zavion watched as she knit the cloth right into the scarf.

"Whatd you do that for?" Zavion asked.

"What did I do?"

"That piece of cloth. Whyd you put it into the scarf?"

"I did it there too. See?"

Ms. Cyn pointed one of her needles to another strip of cloth toward the bottom of the scarf. A dark orange rectangle, hard to see because the wool was almost the same color.

"But what are they?"